


The Mother We Share

by jukeboxes



Series: Commissions [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Cross-Factional Romance, Dick Jokes, F/F, Femslash February, Hate Sex, No Strings Attached, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 16:25:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6016399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jukeboxes/pseuds/jukeboxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hot and cold relationship get steamy... in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mother We Share

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LindenFlowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LindenFlowers/gifts).



> Title taken from The Mother We Share by CHVRCHES
> 
> This is a commissioned work by LindenFlowers.
> 
> :)

“Before you whine at me, I _know_ I’m late. Shockwave got off a good shot. Medics wouldn’t let me go.” Elita One transformed. She gestured to her leg and the malfunctioning tire. A slow smile crept up Slipstream’s face.

“Shockwave kicked your aft? _Well_ , _I_ recall impaling a bitty bot. Small. Tiny. Screamed very nicely.” Elita sighed and rubbed a hand across her face.

“I wish you wouldn’t antagonize me. I’ve dealt with enough slag today,” she grumped. Slipstream smirked. She uncrossed her legs and leapt off the perch where she’d been waiting, the picture of elegance. Walking over to Elita, she swayed her hips.

“Where would we be if I, a Decepticon, didn’t at least mildly irritate you, an Autobot?”

“At peace?” Elita wrapped her arms around Slipstream’s waist. Elita One was tall, and Slipstream almost the same height. Although where Slipstream was a lithe flier, Elita One was bulking, built for manual labour.

“This is what I love about our meetings, Elita. They’re so full of… witty banter.” Slipstream said, smiling. Then, frowning, “You smell like processed energon.”

“You impaled Glyph’s tank, dumbaft. I got it all over me.”

“And you didn’t wash it off?” Slipstream screeched, wrenching herself back.

“And be late enough to get _two_ derogatory comments from you? No way!” Elita stepped forward and grabbed Slipstream’s waist again. She leaned back. “Glyph’s fine, thanks for asking.”

Slipstream hissed.

“Oh my,” Elita rolled her eyes, “you’re so full of melodramatic slag I sometimes wonder how you still fly!” she chuckled and pinched a wing.

“Don’t insult me!” The other femme screeched.

“It wasn’t an insult.” Elita reached around and brushed imaginary dust from Slipstream’s wing in apology.

With a sudden, needy ferocity, Slipstream grabbed the back of Elita’s neck and kissed her violently. Elita One grinned, relatively content to spend a few breems making out. When the two broke apart to vent, she spoke. Rather, she teased.

“Do I taste desperation on your tongue?”

Slipstream threw her hands in the air and bared her teeth. “I thought kissing you would be a more romantic gesture than just saying _lay down already_. Autobots like romantic, don’t they?”

“Okay, enough with the tone.” Elita said, rolling her shoulders in exasperation.

“What tone?”

“I have to hear dozens of soldiers give me an attitude all orn every orn - give me a break here.”

“I’m not one for mercy, you know.”

“And yet here we are.”

Slipstream cackled. “Your sense of humor is refreshing.”

“I hope that’s not all that’s refreshing!” Elita said, waggling her optic ridges. She sat, reaching for Slipstream’s hands. She pulled the other femme into her larger lap.

Slipstream fluttered her wings, “There’s my sappy Autobot. “

“Tell me, were you always a hopeless romantic?”

“I don’t consider a no-wires-attached arrangement to be hopeless or romantic.”

“Then what do you consider it?”

“Rewarding,” Slipstream purred, kissing Elita again. Her panel flipped open. Elita One was surprised that Slipstream was revved this quickly. Normally it took absolute ages to get tongues going during a kiss, and now her valve was out and about? Slipstream demanded perfection, not only in the execution of her orders, but in appearance. Elita was not feeling particularly attractive. And to be honest, she was really, really tired. She sent a quick prayer to Primus to let this rendezvous be quick and painless.

Elita’s shoulder ached. Her rear-left hover tire was sparking with exertion. Her paint was scratched and dull. One of her headfins snapped off when Slipstream fondled it. She stank of battle... and processed energon. Ew.

When she didn’t immediately reciprocate Slipstream’s illicit groping, Slipstream hissed into her neck.

“Lay down already!”

“I thought you weren’t going to say that.” Elita teased before laying back.

“I lied.”

“Did you… _deceive_ me?”

“I’m leaving.”

Elita laughed. She released and extended her spike, then pulled Slipstream down onto her. “You just said you loved my sense of humor!” Slipstream took up rocking.

“I said it was refreshing.”

“You know what’s also refreshing?”

“Is this innuen – "

“This SPIKE!” Elita bucked upwards, making Slipstream gasp.

“Did you just make _a spike joke_? You, a noble Autobot general and the former consort of the most infamous ingenue, Optimus Prime? You?” Elita One chortled. She gazed up at Slipstream with a sly look in her optic.

“Who do you think I get my spike jokes from, Soundwave?”

Slipstream made a face and stopped circling her hips. “Gross… now I’m thinking about Soundwave’s spike.”

“Now I am too...” Both femmes paused in their rough fragging to frown. “Please change the subject.”

“I can’t change the subject! Do you think he has lights on it?”

“Kinky. Does it blink in time with whatever music he’s playing?”

“I think it has to at this point.”

Slipstream and Elita One resumed ‘facing, the loud clanging reverbing off rubble. They didn’t speak for a few moments, alternating in their groaning.

“I don’t think I’d frag Soundwave.”

“Me neither.”

The femmes were quiet; Elita only for a klik.

“Would you rather frag Soundwave, or eat the goo that lines the underground tunnels?”

“How much goo are we talking?”

“At least three cubes full.”

“Damn.” Slipstream cursed, both in pleasure and in irritation.

“Got you.” Irrationally proud of herself, Elita took hold of Slipstream’s hips. Settling her pedes on the ground, she began thrusting up. Slipstream braced herself on Elita’s chest and moaned.

“I’d have to bang him then.” She conceded.

“Could I sell tickets?” Elita said, just to be obtuse.

“It’d be easier to sell the recording he’d inevitably make. Three cubes he has a voyeur kink.”

“Three cubes he’s watching us right now.” They both looked around, concentrating especially on a collapsed building close by. Slipstream grimaced as she punched Elita’s chest.

“Now I’m paranoid. You dross, you made me paranoid! Look at me, with my valve fluttering in the wind – ”

“ – around my spike – ”

“ – picturing Soundwave sitting in that building over there beating off.”

They looked at the rubble. Elita gave a heavy sigh. “Same.” After a cacophony of wet sounds and annoyed grunting, both femmes were safely relocated to the collapsed building.

Elita, who was already exhausted, spit in frustration. “Remember the good ol’ orns a few breems ago when we could clang peacefully in a deserted hellscape? I miss that.”

Slipstream, who had reset herself on a lounging Elita’s lap, glared at the ceiling.

“Now who’s the one doing the antagonizing? Shut up. I was so close before – ”

“ – before Soundwave showed up _in this exact spot_? Yeah… do you think I could get you to overload while thinking about him?”

Slipstream bristled. “If I ever overload thinking of a mech, I will let you shoot me.”

“I’ll make it painless.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Great! Now sit still…” Each of Elita’s words was punctuated with a sharp, rapid thrust. She repeatedly hit a sensitive portion of her partner’s valve. Within a klik and with a rattling gasp, Slipstream overloaded.

Slipstream studiously gazed at the wall above Elita One’s head while she waited for the other femme. Elita grunted along for another breem, squeezing Slipstream’s waist. Finally, as Slipstream was about to complain about pinched wire, a hot rush of fluid filled her valve.

Both femmes’ vents roared as they took a moment cool down. Both refused to look at the other as the afterglow morphed into after-’face awkwardness.

Elita broke the silence, reaching to touch Slipstream’s cheek. “You’re beautiful in overload, you know.”

Slipstream sneered, raising herself off Elita One and closing her panel in one swift movement. “Autobots are so sentimental. Leave it to you to kill the moment.”

Elita slammed her head against the ground and threw her hands over her optics.

“I was just trying to compliment you! You fish for them every astrosec of every orn!”

“I don’t fish for anything!” Slipstream screeched. She began to walk out of the collapsed building.

“Do Decepticons even feel the afterglow or do you just go straight to bathing in the energon of mechs you killed?” Elita yelled at a retreating Slipstream.

“Frag you!” Then, just to piss Elita One off, “and the energon of a dead mech really dulls the shine!” Slipstream cackled as Elita shouted profanities back. Without another word, she transformed and flew away. Elita One was left covered in stickiness and wondering if she was any more content now than when she drove up.


End file.
